


And The Cracks Began To Show

by urami



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Child Neglect, First Order Parenting Kind of Sucks, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship, child Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urami/pseuds/urami
Summary: Armitage was too soft, weak, too much like his mother, Brendol thought. Until one day, he wasn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alley_Skywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/gifts).



> For alley_skywalker.

The boy was a study in contrasts- both so like and yet unlike both of his parents, Brendol Hux thought as he watched his young son mope around the academy’s grounds. Of course, he supposed he could understand it. From what he understood, the child’s mother was quite ill, and unlikely to survive more than a few days more. Some sort of parasitic infection, was what he’d heard. But it was irrelevant, Brendol thought. The boy- Armitage- was too old to cling so desperately to his mother, too old for such sentiments. He was, what, at this point? Eight or nine? By that age, Brendol’s own mother had completely withdrawn from her son.

Watching silently from the window as Armitage took to moping under a tree, Brendol was struck by the contrast between the boy and his mother. Where Nekane was a large woman- in both stature and girth- Armitage was small and slight- so skinny he almost looked as though he would blow away in a stiff breeze. Nekane’s hair had been an almost blue black, falling out from under her hairnet in unruly waves, Armitage had inherited his father’s bright, coppery, stick-straight hair. It was hard to tell from the vantage point he had, but from previous encounters, it looked to Brendol as though the only feature Armitage had inherited from his mother was her gray eyes. And from his admittedly limited interaction with the child, it seemed as even those were different from hers. While Nekane’s eyes had glittered like stardust, when she was healthier, at least, Armitage’s were a colder, more calculating color. Honestly, it was a little unnerving to see eyes like that in one so young.

But the boy was weak. How could he not be, with a mother like his? The boy’s conception had been a mistake. An affair borne of a loveless marriage, too much alcohol, and a failed contraceptive device. It had been pathetic, how the kitchen maid had clung to him once she’d realized she was pregnant, begging him not to leave her- of course the child would be weak-minded. If he took after his mother, young Armitage wouldn’t even be mentally strong enough for a low-ranking enlisted position, let alone the sort of high-powered rank that Brendol expected of a child of his.

Disgustedly, he was just about to turn from the window and go back to work, when he noticed a few older boys approach the tree Armitage was hiding under. At once, Armitage jumped to his feet and glared at the interlopers. Curious, Brendol decided to pay attention a little longer, to see what would happen.

One of the older boys stepped forward confidently, getting right up in Armitage’s face. He sneered something, what, Brendol couldn’t tell, but whatever it was must have been funny enough to cause the boy’s other two friends to fall over laughing. Armitage, however, did not react. Apparently emboldened by this, the first boy stepped forward and pushed Armitage.

It was like a switch had flipped.

Fascinated, Brendol watched as his silent, sickly-looking slip of a son exploded outward in rage. Gone was the weak little boy he’d known all these years, and in his place was a demon of rage in the form of a small child. Armitage rocketed forward and immediately, the older boy was on the ground. Armitage gave him no quarter as he pummeled him mercilessly., beating his face into the dusty ground. The older boy’s friends tried to pull them apart, but it was almost as though sheer hatred was keeping Armitage stuck on him like a magnet. Any time either one tried to pry him off, they got a foot to the face or a fist to the nose or eye sockets for the trouble, and once Armitage had apparently decided his first victim had had enough, he turned his attention to the other boys.

When Brendol noticed the blood seeping from the face of the first boy, however, that was when he decided to intervene.

By the time he reached the tree, his son had managed to take down three older (although, not apparently stronger) boys. Two were groaning, lying in a heap, while the first one lay unmoving.

“I didn’t kill him,” was all Armitage said, looking sullenly at the ground.

“Oh?” Brendol asked, raising an eyebrow in expectation for the boy to continue his explanation.

“I think I knocked him out though,” Armitage continued.

“What brought this on?” Brendol asked. “It is… unlike you to fight like this.” Armitage just stared at the ground, saying nothing.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer,” Brendol chided.

Armitage muttered something unintelligible, refusing to meet his father’s eyes.

“What was that?”

“He… insulted Mother. He called her a whore and said she probably passed venereal disease along to me when she gave birth to me, and asked when I would be dying too.” Armitage explained under his breath, his frank knowledge and repetition of what the older boy had said disturbing on a visceral level to Brendol. At that age, had he even known what a whore was? “When I tried to correct him on his mistaken assumption he decided to push me, so I fought back.” At this, he looked defiantly up into his father’s eyes, the contact surprising him.

How had Brendol ever thought his son had his mother’s eyes? He had never seen Nekane’s eyes so cold, so void of emotion, so… disturbingly empty.

“Mother says I am not supposed to fight,” Armitage said, still in that flat, emotionlessly quiet voice. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Your mother won’t punish you if she finds out you were fighting?” Brendol asked curiously.. Armitage smirked.

“Mother barely recognizes me anymore. Aunt Monna says she will die soon,” he replied. “I don’t think she would care even if someone told her.” Then, all of a sudden, he stopped short. “Is that what you’re here for?”

Brendol thought for a moment. If he was honest with himself, what _was_ he doing here? He’d never cared about Armitage’s behavior before. It certainly hadn’t been fatherly concern that brought him out to the grounds after watching through the window. 

After thinking it through, he made his decision. Perhaps he was going to be able to make something out of his unwanted son after all. 

“Report to the classroom building at 0800 tomorrow. Your training starts then.” Without waiting for the gawking boy to ask him any more questions, he stalked off back in the direction of his office, before he remembered one final thing. 

“And make sure those three get to the infirmary, will you? I don't want them dying out here on the lawn.” 

The End 

  



End file.
